


jupiter love

by xmjcx



Category: Frozen (Disney Movies)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Smut, Soulmates, soulscars au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-17
Updated: 2020-04-17
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:42:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23699470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xmjcx/pseuds/xmjcx
Summary: “So, after all these years, you conveniently bump into this boy down at the market - right under our very noses - at the same time that there’s a foreign prince here, requesting your hand?”or, soulscars AU.
Relationships: Anna/Kristoff (Disney)
Comments: 26
Kudos: 81





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this was supposed to be a one-shot, but it got the better of me and so I've broken it up into a few parts so that it's not one humongous chapter :)

“She’s perfect,” Iduna whispers. 

Her skin gleams with sweat and her cheeks flush pink as she attempts to steady her laboured breaths. Blood trickles down her thighs and her abdomen clenches tightly once more as the midwives talk between themselves about the afterbirth, but the Queen focuses her attention on the small bundle resting on her bare chest. 

“She is,” the older woman standing beside her agrees, though Iduna doesn’t look away from her newborn daughter; too busy running her fingers over her damp, downy hair and wiping the remnants of blood away from it. 

“She came much quicker than Elsa,” the Queen laughs softly as she continues with her slow, gentle exploration, awe evident on her features. 

“Second babies usually do, ma’am,” the midwife smiles knowingly, and Iduna sighs happily as she inspects her daughter’s hands, checking that she has ten fingers. She does the same for her toes. 

It’s a few hours later – once the little princess has had her first feed on the breast and they have both been cleaned and dressed – when Agnarr is welcomed into the birthing room so that he can meet her. 

His hands tremble slightly as his wide blue eyes dart anxiously between his wife and the bundle in her arms, and he tentatively sits himself down on the bed. 

“She’s perfect,” the Queen tells him, those simple words repeated once more; and he nods his head in agreement as he accepts her offering. He cradles the little one carefully and inspects her much the same as his wife had done earlier, his eyes trailing over her face, then her fingers, and he relaxes into the hold. 

“Does she have -” he starts, though Iduna cuts him off with a shake of her head. 

It’s the same question that he asked her following Elsa’s birth, and his shoulder’s sag in relief at the words the Queen doesn’t need to say. 

_No scars._

_._

_._

_._

Her skin remains unmarked for five and a half years. 

“Ouch,” Anna grumbles as she rubs at the back of her arm, and Iduna frowns as she looks up from the book that she’s reading. 

“Are you alright?” her mother asks, and Anna nods as she continues to rub at her skin. 

It’s not that painful, really; and she’s quickly distracted when Elsa places the snow fairy figure on top of the horse. 

Still, Iduna places the book down and examines the back of Anna’s arm, a frown on her face as she gently brushes one of her fingers over the freshly marked skin. 

Anna winces away from her touch. It’s tender and sensitive rather than outright painful, and her mother’s silent fussing isn’t enough to prevent her from returning her attention to the game of _enchanted forest_ that she’s playing with her sister.

The Queen shares a concerned look across the room with her husband, but neither of them comment any further about it. 

Later – once they’ve shared a story and been tucked into their beds – Elsa whispers to her about tales she has heard of soulmates and shared marks. Anna’s never heard such things before, and her eyes light up as hopeful curiosity bubbles within her. 

The older of the two seems to be able to sense her excitement, and she quickly corrects her tone, changes it to one that’s casually dismissive. 

“Rumours, _”_ she explains, _“_ just old stories that probably don’t mean anything at all _.”_

Young as she is, Anna begins to wonder about the mark that lingers on the back of her arm. She’s heard snippes about soulmates before - knows that some of the palace staff have found their own, like Gerda and Kai - but nobody has ever mentioned marks or scars to her before. 

It’s all so _romantic._

“Do you have any?” she asks, her voice soft and quiet, and Elsa shakes her head no in response. “Oh,” Anna says, then returns her gaze back up to the ceiling. “Okay.” 

. 

. 

. 

Anna is fourteen years old when she wakes with a cry that swiftly transitions into a scream, and her parents are there soon after, worry etched on their faces as they hurry into her room. 

This isn’t a regular occurence by any means, though it’s equally not the first time that this has happened in recent months, and the two of them quickly assume their positions around her as per what is now their routine. 

The back of Anna’s shoulder feels like it’s on fire, and she whimpers as she rests her head in her mother’s lap. The Queen runs her fingers through her auburn hair, her mouth downturned as she murmurs soft words of reassurance. Meanwhile, Agnarr stands at the end of the bed, watching the scene unfold whilst somehow managing to look both frustrated and concerned. 

There’s nothing that anyone can do to ease these kinds of aches or to lessen the pain. Despite the intensity of the burning as her skin begins to mark, there’s nothing physical on Anna’s part that any medic can heal, and tears fall down her cheeks as she thinks of _him_ once more. 

She simply cannot understand what on earth it is that he’s doing that must hurt him so. She thinks of where he might be, the life he must be leading; and whilst she can’t imagine any job that would require someone to injure themselves on such a regular basis, she also doesn’t want to think much about the possibility of another person inflicting this kind of pain upon him. 

“This boy,” Agnarr mutters under his breath once Anna’s breathing has steadied and the tears have stopped falling. The princess doesn’t miss the glare that her mother throws in his direction, and he sighs heavily as he shakes his head from side to side. “Are you alright?” he asks; and he sounds as drained as she feels, now, and Anna nods as she wipes the tears away from her cheeks. 

She knows that her father doesn’t think much of the stories, knows that he doesn’t care much for the scars, or for soulmates – especially not _her_ soulmate. 

_You are a princess,_ he’s told her on more than one occasion, _and princes don’t have these kinds of scars._

He doesn’t need to say anything more on the matter. She knows exactly what it is that he means. 

. 

. 

. 

Anna is eighteen years old when Agnarr informs her that she will meet with a potential suitor at the ball that they are holding in three days’ time. He’s the youngest prince from the Southern Isles, and her father’s council have stressed how an alliance with the country would greatly benefit Arendelle’s trade. 

“Papa says that princes don’t have marks like these,” Anna murmurs as she twists in the mirror and looks over the long scar that decorates the back of her shoulder. 

It’s been four years since it appeared, yet it remains etched on her skin; a thin, white line that serves as a constant reminder of the man whom she’s yet to meet. 

“But... but what if I don’t _want_ a prince?” 

Elsa frowns from where she’s sitting on the bed, watching carefully. “Anna,” her sister sighs, “don’t you think it’s time to forget about all of this?” 

The redhead stiffens before she snaps her head round so that she’s facing her sister once more rather than the mirror. 

“What are you talking about?” she asks, her entire body tense. “How am I supposed to forget about him, when near enough every day he does something to injure himself, and me?” 

A little bit of an exaggeration, really - it’s hardly every day. But. 

Elsa sighs. “Anna,” she bites out, “I don’t - I don’t want to upset you. I _don’t,”_ she stresses when Anna rolls her eyes in frustration. “But whoever this man is, you know that papa would never –” 

“I don’t care what papa says,” Anna interrupts, and Elsa raises her brows in surprise. 

The redhead’s shoulders slump dramatically as she lifts her eyes to the ceiling and blinks rapidly, her hands balling into fists in mid-air as she desperately tries to formulate the words that she wants to say. 

Elsa is, and always has been, much like their father. She doesn’t think much about soulmates or soulmarks, doesn’t have an awfully high opinion on the scars that litter her sister’s body or the reason that they’re there; but Anna thinks that it’s only the case because Elsa has still to this day never received even one mark of her own. 

If she had, then she thinks that the blonde might understand a little more. 

“I just – I don’t want to marry some stupid _prince._ Not if he’s not...” 

She trails off then, lost for words. 

She doesn’t even know his _name._

Anna doesn’t know who this man is. He’s out there, somewhere; the evidence of his existence shows on her puckered skin, and yet she hasn’t the slightest clue who in the world he might be. There’s no hints that she can pick up on, no dreams or signs as such; and Anna often wonders whether he’s right there in front of her or whether he’s somewhere far away.

How would she ever know? 

How is it fair that she wouldn’t? 

“I just want to find him,” Anna admits. “If I could meet with him just _once_ , then I’d know what to do.” 

Just a name would suffice at this point. 

Elsa regards her carefully for a long moment before she exhales through her nose and closes her eyes. 

“Anna,” she says, though just the way that she says her name has the redhead squaring her shoulders slightly, ready for the next swipe. “Will you just – will you at least _try_ to consider this prince?” she says, her eyes open now. Pleading. “For papa’s sake, if nothing more.” 

What is she supposed to say to that? _No?_

She knows that he’s out there, somewhere. These marks on her skin confirm his existence. 

She wonders whether she’ll find him in time. 

“I’ll try,” she tells her sister, and Elsa’s tense body relaxes at that. 

She means it, too. 

She’ll never stop trying to find him. 

. 

. 

. 

Prince Hans is nice enough, she supposes, although he spends much of the evening talking to the King rather than her, and Anna finds herself rather irritated by it all. 

In a way, she’s somewhat relieved not to have to make small talk with him – he's handsome enough, and charming, too, but her mind is elsewhere, and she finds herself trailing through the crowds of people in the hopes of finding _him._

She doesn’t, of course. 

Her father wasn’t wrong – princes don’t have marks like the ones on her body. Nor do any of the Lord’s or dignitaries or noblemen who fill the castle, and she sighs hopelessly as she makes her way towards the door that leads out of the ballroom. 

She needs to know who he is before it’s too late, before her hand is offered to this southern prince – and if not this one, then another much like him. Anna knows that she has no choice but to at least _try_ something different. Eighteen years of waiting hasn’t brought him any closer to her, hasn’t encouraged their paths to meet, so she thinks that it’s finally time to do something about it. 

The sound of booming laughter catches her attention as she approaches the heavy set of doors that lead out onto the corridor, and she turns her head over her shoulder to catch sight of her father and the prince laughing loudly together. Anna can almost guarantee that whatever it is they’re talking about isn’t _that_ amusing, and the sight serves as confirmation of what she knows must be done. 

She can’t spend another eighteen years wondering. 

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

In the morning, she leaves. 

It’s hardly as though she’s running away, of course. She plans to begin her search in the marketplace – it's as good a place as anywhere, she figures – and although she knows that her father will be furious if he finds out that she’s slipped out when she’s supposed to be entertaining her potential suitor, she can’t help the fact that she feels so much better once she makes it out of the gates and begins to mingle amongst the crowds. 

It’s easy enough to blend in here, to disappear and lose herself amongst people who are far too busy going about their daily lives to give her so much as a second glance, never mind a second thought. 

Her senses are overwhelmed, to say the least; not only by the sounds and the sights of the townspeople, but by the many different scents that waft under her nose and the way in which the cobbles shift unevenly beneath her feet. Anna wanders around the vibrant stalls with wide eyes, a small smile on her lips as she relishes in the sense of freedom that she gets on the rare opportunities that she manages to escape out here. 

There are so many voices all around her, but after a few minutes, she notes one in particular that stands out, that calls to her; and Anna swears that all of the marks that cover her body – from the small one on her arm to the slither on the back of her hand to the large scar on her shoulder – tingle in response to the sound. The sensation is strange and unfamiliar, and she finds herself craning her neck immediately in search of the person. 

She never thought that she would find him so easily – if she had done, then she wouldn’t have waited eighteen years to do this. 

She focuses on the sound of his voice as she edges through the stalls, uses it to track him, and the fair hairs that cover her freckled arms standing at high alert as she squeezes her way through the crowd until his voice is closer and clearer and louder. 

She sees him, then. 

He’s bickering with someone at one of the stalls – something about the price, although she’s not quite close enough to be able to hear exactly what it is that he’s saying. She’s suddenly overcome with embarrassment, and she looks around desperately before she hides herself behind a nearby pillar and continues to watch from a reasonable distance; close enough, but not _too_ close.

He doesn’t catch sight of her, anyway. 

Her eyes stay locked onto him as he speaks animatedly with the red headed man behind the stall, and she finds herself itching to move forwards; to push away from the pillar and out into the open, to approach him, and she knows that it’s irrational and ridiculous but she thinks of how she wouldn’t mind _touching_ him, either. 

He’s handsome, but in a way that Anna’s never known before. Nothing about him seems soft - not even his fair hair, and certainly not his sharp jaw or his rugged stubble, not his broad shoulders and thick forearms. Even from this slight distance, she can tell that he’s much taller than she is, and her heart thunders within her chest as she watches him wave his arms quickly and then walk away, shoulders tense and head shaking slightly.

She moves without thought. Follows him as he walks away from the market. Anna tries to keep some distance between the two of them, and she’s always been rather proud of her ability to sneak around the castle, but outside is different – the ground isn’t even or smooth, and after a few minutes of remaining undetected behind him, he turns to frown over his shoulder as she trips over on a stone. 

He doesn’t look pleased at all to see her. 

“Are you following me?” he bites out in that voice that’s smooth but firm at the same time, though Anna can’t answer his question as she corrects her stance and stands to her full height once more. 

There’s still some distance between them, but he suddenly came to a stop when he heard her trip and the movement had propelled her forward somewhat, so she’s close enough to him now that she has to tilt her chin in order to meet his eyes. 

She had known from the way in which his voice had lulled her in - from how it had stood out to her above everyone else’s, from how her skin had prickled in response to it that he was the one; but if there was any doubt lingering in her mind, it evaporates instantly as she finally gets chance to look at him. 

A pair of brown eyes that are familiar and strange all at once meet with her own, and Anna’s chest clenches tightly as her breath hitches at the sight of them. An energy stronger than before courses through her as she stares up at him with wide eyes and parted lips, and she can hardly bring herself to breathe, never mind blink. 

He feels it. 

She can tell by the look of surprise on his own face. 

The stranger’s mouth opens and closes a few times, and he looks a little dumbfounded, too; though his surprised expression quickly slips back into the frown that he wore before as he shakes his head slightly and turns to walk away from her once again. 

“Wait!” she calls, panic bubbling within her; and what is he _doing,_ he can’t just walk away, not when she’s finally found him. Anna moves to hurry after him, and the stranger bristles as he turns to face her once again. 

He huffs out a quick breath. “What do you want?” he asks through gritted teeth, his hard jaw and clenched fists clear indications of his impatience and irritation, and Anna swallows thickly under his heated gaze. 

What _does_ she want? 

Just this morning, she had wanted to find him; wanted to see him with her own eyes and feel what it would be like to finally meet her soulmate. She had wanted to know that he was real, that he existed. She had wanted to know what it is that he’s been doing with his life that has caused her so much pain in the past, had wanted to know everything about him, and she had wanted – 

_Him._

Anna had tried to tell her sister, though she hadn’t known quite how to explain it all at the time. 

She doesn’t want to marry a prince. She doesn’t want anyone apart from her soulmate. 

How does she say that, though? How does she tell this handsome stranger that she’s been waiting for him all along, ever since the first small mark appeared on the back of her arm? How do you tell the stranger that you’ve been waiting eighteen years for that you’ve finally found him, and that he is yours as much as you are his? 

She can’t. She doesn’t know how. So – 

“Tell me that you feel it, too,” she says to him, her voice barely above a whisper, and she watches the way in which his eyes dance over his face before he swallows. 

“I - I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says with a quick shake of his head, and then he walks away once more. 

Anna quickly gathers up her skirts as she rushes to follow after him, trying her best not to trip over any more stones on her way. His strides are much longer than her own, and as a result, she struggles to keep up; though he doesn’t so much cast her another glance over his shoulder as he continues to march down the cobbled path. 

This man is nothing like she ever imagined him to be, and he’s somehow more than she ever hoped for, too. He clearly has no idea whatsoever as to her title or her status, and the way in which he has spoken to her so far is nothing at all like the southern prince.

It’s thrilling. Refreshing. Almost endearing. 

He’s a little rude, she supposes, but she’s too excited to care - fit to burst from a mixture of elation and adrenaline now that she’s found him. 

All by herself. 

“Who are you?” she says to him as they continue to walk, and Anna can’t see his face, but she doesn’t miss the way in which his shaggy hair moves as he shakes his head from side to side. 

“I asked you first,” he snaps, and he catches her by surprise as he suddenly makes a sharp turn and hurries down several steps that lead towards the waterfront. 

The movement should have put more distance between them, but he’s clearly underestimated her determination; and she’s never cared much for steps, anyway, so she gathers up her skirts and hops swiftly over the small stone wall. She grins triumphantly as she lands perfectly - she’s always been a little clumsy, and spraining her ankle isn’t at the top of her to-do list today - and the movement brings her much closer to him. 

His steps falter slightly as he shoots her a look of disbelief, though it quickly turns into annoyance once more, and Anna hurries in order to walk side-by-side with him. 

“I’m Anna,” she tells him with a smile. 

“That isn’t what I asked you,” he reminds her as he focuses on looking straight ahead once more. 

Anna laughs softly, then; a little flustered. “Oh! Of course,” she says. “I want - well. What do I want, right?” 

Her eyes dart between his face and the scene in front of her - mostly so that she doesn’t trip over or bump into something - and it’s certainly difficult to keep up with him when his legs are so much longer than her own, but she’s just about managing. 

“Right,” he says with a roll of his eyes. “That was what I asked.” 

There are people walking towards them, and the man puts a lot more distance between them as he turns slightly and heads towards the water, walking alongside it so that the people can make their way through the large gap in between them. 

Anna chases him, though, and ends up by his side once again. 

She spots a narrow wooden platform leading out onto the fjord a couple of metres ahead, and it’s there for people to utilise when they are boarding and departing small boats, but Anna’s eyes narrow as she focuses on it. An idea forms rapidly in her mind, and she smirks wickedly at the thought. 

Once they’re about to pass the platform, she makes a point of leaning dramatically closer towards him. Her arm almost brushes against his own, though he notices her proximity and practically leaps away; his eyes wide and his lips parted, pure horror etched onto his face. She almost laughs at his comical expression, and just as she had hoped, he spots the platform and gravitates quickly towards it. 

It’s a dead end, though. 

She’s got him pinned.

Anna follows him, and an amused smirk tugs on her lips as he takes a step backwards when she steps forwards. She narrows her light eyes as she repeats the motion and finds that he does the same.

She does laugh, now; the sound soft and light and playful as she continues to move closer towards him until they reach the end of the platform. 

He’s ridiculous, and she thinks that she might be smitten already.

_He’ll do just fine._

The man almost loses his footing as he reaches the edge of the platform, and the smile on her face flaters at the sight. He quickly corrects himself, though, and Anna’s shoulders sag a little in relief.

It’s not that she’d mind seeing him soaking wet, but she thinks he might _really_ be cross with her, then.

She watches as those dark eyes flicker between her own and the water that surrounds them, and if she didn’t know any better, then she’d swear that he was actually considering jumping into the water in order to get away from her. 

“Can you blame me?” he asks, his eyes wide as he gestures vaguely towards her, and Anna hadn’t even realised that she said that out loud. 

She giggles softly despite his harsh tone. 

“You’re ridiculous,” she tells him, her light eyes wide as she blinks up at him. 

She _really_ likes the way that he is around her - like she’s not a princess, but just a normal person, and her cheeks flush at the thought. 

A normal person who has followed a stranger through the marketplace despite his protests. 

A normal person who has gaped and stared and smiled at said stranger without explanation.

A normal person who has cornered him between herself and the water. 

Oh, _god._

Anna has always been a little awkward, but cornering a man to the point where he seriously considers jumping into the fjord just to get away from her? That’s a new low, even by her standards. 

Elsa would _die._

She frowns. “I’m -” she starts, though she falters as she steps back ever so slightly. 

She shuffles a little towards one side so that she’s not fully caging him in anymore - though she knows that he could easily push past her, if he genuinely wanted to get away.

“I’m sorry,” she says, shaking her head. “I don’t know what’s gotten into me. I’m not usually so -”

She pauses. Struggles.

“Intense?” he fills in, and her shoulders sag.

He could have said something _much_ worse.

“Right,” she nods, cringing outwardly at her behaviour. “I just - it’s _you._ I can _feel_ it.”

He frowns once more, and he doesn’t believe her, she can tell. Anna wants to reach out towards him, wants to brush her hand against his own, though she’s not convinced that he would appreciate the gesture even though she’s already itching to know what his skin would feel like underneath her palm.

It’s addictive, this feeling. And if she already feels like _this_ just from looking at him, just from hearing his voice, then - 

“Your hand,” she says to him, and his brows pull together even more. “Left hand. Just where your thumb meets your wrist - there’s a mark there,” she says, and she watches as his dark eyes trail down to inspect the skin there. 

She doesn’t miss the way that they widen at the sight of the faded scar – one that he’s no doubt forgotten all about, it’s so small – and she presses on, encouraged. 

“The back of your right arm. There’s on there, too. It was – it was my first one,” she tells him, and although his lips roll into a firm, hard line, she continues. “And your back – the back of your shoulder. Four years ago, now – that was a _really_ bad one,” she says, a hint of laughter in her voice, and his expression softens dramatically as he looks over at her in understanding. 

_Keep talking,_ she thinks. 

“I’ve spent so many nights wondering what it is that you’ve been doing that gets you into so much trouble,” she says, smiling, now; and she’s a little overwhelmed by it all, by the fact that he’s actually here, stood before her, and Anna blinks rapidly in an attempt to prevent the tears that threaten to pool in her eyes. “And I've – I’ve spent eighteen years of my life locked behind doors, and the first time that I venture out, I find you. It’s not – it's not supposed to be this _easy,_ surely,” she says, “it’s _not._ That _has_ to mean something. Right?” 

He looks at her for an impossibly long length of time – silence filling the distance between them – and Anna knows that he must feel the pull that she’s feeling, too, knows that he must want to reach out to her in the same way that she wants to touch him. She knows it because it doesn’t make any _sense,_ not really – she's never wanted to touch a stranger like this, never been so desperate to feel unfamiliar skin beneath her hands, and _yet_ – 

“How do you know that?” he presses, suspicious. His eyes dance over her form as she grins triumphantly. “Who the fuck even are you?” 

“I already told you,” she says, laughter in her voice; and she doesn’t so much as cringe at his curse, far too wrapped up in the fact that she’s found him, all on her own and he’s all _hers._ “I’m Anna, and I’m your soulmate.” 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> special thank u to liv for the visual of Kristoff debating yeeting himself into the fjord to get away from Anna 😭😂


	3. Chapter 3

He remains skeptical, though he begins to engage with her, which has to count for _something_.

He tells her his name – _Kristoff Bjorgman –_ which suits him perfectly well, and she repeats it back to him, likes the way that it sounds when she says it. Anna smiles softly and she swears that his cheeks burn red, though he doesn’t comment on it any further. 

He introduces her to his reindeer - Sven - and tells her of how he sells ice for a living. It makes sense when he explains how he spends an awful lot his time in the mountains, and she smiles softly at him as she tucks some of her bangs behind her ear. 

She’s not _flirting_ with him, she’s just – 

Alright. She’s _trying,_ anyway. 

Later, Elsa will ridicule her for it, she knows; will tell her she’s crazy and forward and outrageous. But Elsa hasn’t _seen_ him yet, hasn’t been blessed with the sight of his masculine jaw and his broad shoulders and his large forearms, hasn’t been treated to the vision of his loose shirt clinging tightly to his biceps or his large hands clenching and unclenching, and Anna thinks that her sister will understand it all better when she does. 

“So that's how you got all these scars, then,” she breathes, and Kristoff rolls his eyes as he shakes his head slightly. 

They’re sitting on the grass by his sled - Sven rushing around the clearing that Kristoff had brought them to - and Anna knows that her sister will think it to be foolish of her to happily head to somewhere quiet and isolated with a stranger, but this is her _soulmate._ It’s different.

“ _All these scars,”_ he repeats with a frown. “There aren’t _that_ many.” 

“Well, you have a lot more than I do,” she tells him, and her smile is just a _little_ smug as she looks up at him from the corner of her eyes. “In fact, have you _ever_ felt anything from me?” 

Her father had never wanted her to know much about how the marks work, so she’s relied on old books and whispered stories overheard from the palace staff. From what she understands of this kind of magic, it’s only permanent marks on a person’s body that also mark their soulmate. Anna’s had her fair share of bumps and bruises – she shudders at the memory of riding her bicycle down the staircase – though she’s never engaged in any activity that’s been serious enough to permanently mark her skin. 

He doesn’t respond to her question immediately, and she blinks up at him from where she sits beside him. Anna notes his downturned mouth and his eyes that are lowered to the floor, and she thinks of how he looks almost _sad_. 

“No,” he says, his voice soft. “I’ve never – I've never had anything before. I guess that’s why I just thought –” he stops, then; huffs out a breath and shakes his head once. 

“Why you just thought what?” she presses softly. 

She thinks that she understands what he’s trying to say, but she wants to know for certain. 

“I don’t know,” he says, “I just - I never believed in it, I guess. That’s all.” 

“You know,” Anna says after a pregnant pause, “my father has always told me that princes don’t get scars like the ones you’ve got.” He tilts his chin down towards her then, and Anna smiles apologetically up at him. “I guess I never thought about the fact that princesses don’t, either.” 

His eyes near enough bulge out of his head at her words, and Anna realises then what she’s done. 

“Wait, _what_?”

. 

. 

. 

It takes a while to calm him down. 

“It doesn’t mean anything,” she explains. “It doesn’t change anything.”

He looks at her like he doesn’t believe her. 

She can’t blame him. She’s not sure that she does, either.

.

.

.

After some time, he informs her that he really has to go. He’s got more work to do yet, and Anna feels awfully guilty for distracting him like this. 

He shrugs at her apology. Doesn’t dismiss it, but doesn’t accept it, either.

Kristoff agrees to meet with her again, though he can’t come any sooner than the following night. Anna has the perfect idea, and she gives him instructions on how to meet her in the hiding spot. She knows the best way for him to make it around the guards, and she has no doubt that if he can scale a mountain, then he can make it to the castle’s roof.

“I’ll see you tomorrow night,” she murmurs, her cheeks flushing pink. 

Considering the fact that she near enough stalked this man through the market, she feels awfully _shy_ now, and she tugs nervously on the ends of her hair as she blinks up at him. 

He smiles at her, too, and Anna’s stomach swoops dramatically. “Yeah,” he nods, “you will.”

.

.

.

As per her father’s request, Anna spends some time during the day with Prince Hans.

He’s _fine,_ she supposes; but her chest doesn’t tighten and her heart doesn’t pound, her gaze doesn’t linger and her fingers don’t itch to reach out and touch him. There’s no overwhelming desire to be near him, no warmth coursing through her at the sound of his voice. There are no butterflies, no clenching of her abdomen or flushing of her cheeks, and Anna knows already that her heart well and truly belongs to another. 

It always has, of course; but it’s _different_ , now that she’s seen him. 

She had wanted to meet him - just once, that’s all. She had wanted to see him with her own eyes, had wanted to find out his name, what he does for a living, where he’s been and what kind of life he’s lived. She wanted to know his story, wanted to know who he was and what made it so that he was supposed to be hers. 

She had wanted desperately for that to be enough, for that to satisfy her; but it _hasn’t._

It's not enough. It never will be enough. 

Anna wants _more._

. 

. 

. 

He’s there on the roof, exactly where she told him to be, and Anna grins happily at the sight of him. 

She’s spent much of the last twenty-four hours whispering his name to her empty bedroom, but it’s different, now; saying it out loud because she’s pleased to see him, relieved that he’s followed through on his agreement to see her once more, and his lips quirk just a touch as she hurries to settle herself down beside him on the cool tiles. 

“I’m glad that you came,” she smiles. 

“I told you I would,” he responds, tilting his chin in her direction so that he’s looking at her, and Anna’s stomach flips as his eyes lock onto hers. 

There’s that feeling again - the one that she missed earlier on. 

It feels like she can finally breathe. 

They talk for a while, and Anna’s pleasantly surprised and relieved to find that he seems more willing and eager to engage in conversation with her than he was yesterday. She finds herself sighing softly and laughing lightly as they chatter, and she thinks of how he seems less tense around her tonight, how he’s softer and more at ease. 

Most of his stories involve his reindeer, Sven, and she finds herself leaning closer towards him as they speak. 

She’s always known that he was out there, somewhere; but the thought of him believing that she wasn’t – the thought of him thinking that there was no-one waiting for him, no-one _wanting_ him – causes her chest to clench impossibly tighter. 

She’s been waiting. She’s been wanting. 

She wants him to know that she has. 

Anna swallows her nerve and casually leans closer so that she can drop her head against his shoulder. He stiffens beneath her for a moment, and she worries that she’s over-stepped, that she’s read this all wrong; but then he exhales a long breath and continues with his tale about the shopkeeper in the mountain’s and his irritating habit of changing the price of his stock without prior warning. 

She lets him grow comfortable in their new position, gives him chance to adjust to it and settle, but Anna doesn’t have time to waste, really – not when her father is already down her throat about marrying her off to the first prince who’s shown any interest in her – and so she boldly moves to settle her palm over the back of his hand. 

She startles slightly at the jolt that runs through her body when their skin connects, and a soft gasp escapes her throat. Kristoff doesn’t move to pull away, though he does stiffen once more, and Anna pulls away from his shoulder so that she can look in his eyes once more. 

“Tell me that you feel it, too,” she whispers to him, a repeat of her words she said to him just yesterday. 

Her light eyes are bright and wide and hopeful as she gazes into his, and her shoulders sag in relief when he nods his head once. 

“I do,” he admits, his own voice soft and quiet, and Anna beams at him. 

.

.

.

Her mother is the first to suspect that something is going on. 

Anna has never been very good at lying.

“I found him,” she confesses, “I found him and I love him.”

The Queen’s face falls dramatically.

.

.

.

He meets her again the following night, though she’s able to catch sight of him earlier on in the market and warn him to meet her in the stables instead. 

He looks confused at the instruction, but she isn’t able to linger and explain - the southern prince has accompanied her, requesting a tour of Arendelle - and Anna smiles apologetically as Kristoff frowns over at him.

She tells him of her conversation with her mother as they settle themselves against the hay, and Kristoff frowns at her as she slips her small hand into his. She’s closer to him tonight, since there’s not as much room for them to distance themselves in the small stall, and Anna can feel the warmth radiating from him as she presses their arms together and intertwines their fingers.

He’s tense, even as his thumb brushes over the scar that sits there. She doesn’t know him awfully well - not yet, anyway - but she gets the feeling that something is bothering him, and so she waits patiently for him to break the silence. 

“Will you - will you marry him, then?” he asks her eventually, and Anna huffs out a laugh.

“Absolutely not,” she responds.

His body relaxes at that.

.

.

.

“How good are you at climbing walls?” she asks him, and he shrugs his shoulders casually. “It’s just - if you can climb a _mountain,_ then you can climb a wall, right?” she presses further, and Kristoff nods. 

“I guess so,” he says, “why?” 

.

.

.

An excited squeal escapes her throat at the sound of knuckles tapping quickly against her window, and Anna practically dives out of bed as she rushes towards it. She opens the glass pane inwardly and grins happily as Kristoff easily climbs through. 

To say that he’s so _large,_ he’s awfully graceful when he wants to be. She can picture him perfectly in the mountains, thinks of how well it suits him, and Anna rushes to close the window once more as he quickly disposes of his rope and other tools onto her floor.

She triple-checks that her door is locked whilst he removes his jacket - the last thing that she needs is someone bursting in - and then hurries to sit down on the corner of her bed. She watches him for a moment as he narrows his eyes and glances around her room, and then she pats the space beside her, a silent invitation. 

He accepts. 

As with each night, they talk for a while. He tells her of his day, how _everyone_ in the market seemed to want to buy his ice this morning; and she smiles and giggles along as he recounts the tale to her.

Kristoff speaks more and more each night, and it’s not taken him long at all to grow more comfortable around her. He seems at ease in her presence - no longer so tense or stiff or unsure - and the butterflies come more frequently, lingering with each lop-sided smile or chuckle that he offers. 

They eventually lie back against the bed, both of them on their sides looking at one another, and Kristoff’s breath hitches as when she instinctively moves forward and brushes some of his hair away from his forehead so that she can get a better look at his eyes. It’s a little forward, she knows; but she can’t help but feel as though she doesn’t have much time at all to act, and Anna swallows thickly as she blinks up at him.

“If I wanted to try something,” she begins, her voice low and quiet, “would you - would you let me?” 

Her fingers twitch from where they rest on his cheek, and she bites down on her lip as her eyes dance between his own and his mouth. 

The pull that she feels towards him grows stronger, and she doesn’t realise that she’s slowly shuffling closer and closer towards him on the mattress. 

Kristoff nods his head once in answer to her question, and her lips quirk slightly. 

“I - alright,” she breathes, so close that her nose almost brushes against his, “so - so if I wanted to kiss you, then you wouldn’t… you wouldn’t say no?” 

Anna is momentarily distracted by the way in which his throat moves as he swallows, but then her light eyes shoot back up to meet with his own as he speaks. 

“No,” he says, his voice thick, “no, I - I wouldn’t say no.”

She bites down further on her bottom lip in an attempt to contain her grin, though her efforts are wasted, and she giggles softly as she blinks at him. 

“Good,” she breathes, and she’s about to move, ready to close the distance between the two of them -

But he beats her to it.

His chapped lips press softly against her own in a kiss that’s feather-light, chaste and tender; and her heart _soars_ at their union. All of the marks on her body tingle with the same intensity that they did the first time that she heard his voice, and Anna never wants this feeling to go, doesn’t want to miss out on the buzz that courses through her when he touches her. 

Kristoff moves as if to pull away, and so she quickly chases his mouth, pressing her own against his with a firmer pressure in what she hopes is encouragement for him to stay. He doesn’t pull back any further, and she sighs happily as her thumb trails carefully over his cheekbone. 

Anna’s never kissed someone before, and after another gentle press of his lips, she wants _more._

She angles her face so that she can slot her mouth more purposefully against his, and she’s moving purely from instinct as she slides her tongue against his bottom lip. Kristoff hesitates for a moment, but then he parts his lips against hers, and Anna grins in delight as she tentatively swipes her tongue against his own.

Her entire body vibrates at the sensation, and she gasps loudly in surprise. The hairs on the back of her neck and her arms raise dramatically, and heat pools within her core as she inhales a shaky breath. Anna’s light eyes widen as she pulls away from him ever so slightly, though there’s only enough distance between the two of them so that she can look into his eyes, and his shocked expression no doubt mirrors her own perfectly. 

“I -” she starts, then laughs softly. She doesn’t know what to say, completely lost for words; overwhelmed by the unfamiliar - yet pleasant - sensations that strum through her from head to toe. “Tell me that you feel it, too.”

He considers her for a moment, then lips lips slide into a wide grin. “You know that I do,” he responds, and then his lips are on hers once more. 

One of his hands moves to rest on her waist, and she can feel the warmth of his skin radiating through the thin layer of her nightdress. His fingers fan over the small of her back, and Anna hums happily as she continues with her lazy exploration of his mouth. She presses herself a little firmer against him - enough so that she can feel the way in which his heart pounds within his chest - and thinks of how easy it would be to get carried away with him like this.

Anna knows that kissing is something that’s pleasurable, but she’s never known anyone describe it to her like this; never read any books that talk of how fulfilling it is to join at the mouth with another person, and her fingers dance against his light stubble as she moves her tongue slowly against his. 

It’s different, kissing a soulmate. It _must_ be. 

Anna wonders then whether it’s too soon to tell him that she loves him.

She’s certain that she does, though.

Anna would be more than willing to up the pace of their kiss, though Kristoff seems determined to keep it soft and slow and steady. Eventually, he pulls away, though she has no idea how long it’s been since they first started - they could have been kissing for hours, for all that she knows.

A soft sigh escapes her throat when he suckles gently at her bottom lip as he slowly moves his head further away from her own, and her chest clenches tightly when he tilts his chin and presses a chaste kiss to the middle of her forehead. 

Deep down, Anna knows that she made her choice the moment that she laid eyes on him at the market. 

She knows what she has to do, now.

“That was -” she breathes, completely lost for words as she flutters her eyes open and blinks over at him. She slides her fingers away from his cheek and into his hair, tugging gently at the fair strands, and she smirks as he shudders when her nails rake against his scalp. 

“Yeah,” he agrees, and Anna laughs softly. 

.

.

.

Prince Hans returns to the Southern Isles the next day, his suit declined by the King; and Anna feels triumphant as she twirls around her bedroom, humming softly under her breath. 

She knew that her mother would come through for her in the end, but she also should have known that she wouldn’t be off the hook quite so easily.

“Where did you meet this boy?” her father asks, his fair brows pulled together as he paces the length of her room. 

He’s not impressed, to say the least, and Anna eyes her mother nervously before she swallows. 

She really has never been very good at lying.

“Well,” she begins, clears her throat and then starts again. “I - I went out. To… the marketplace.”

Agnarr narrows his eyes at her, though he doesn’t shout, doesn’t scream, doesn’t demand to know more. She takes that as a good sign, and following a small, encouraging smile from her mother, she continues. 

“And… I found him.”

“Just like that?” the King presses, and Anna nods her head quickly. “So, after all these years, you conveniently bump into this boy down at the market - _right_ under our very noses - right at the same time that there’s a foreign prince here, requesting your hand?” 

The way that her father tells it makes it sound all wrong, and frustration bubbles within her as she looks over at him. 

“I know it sounds crazy,” Anna hurries, “but it’s _him._ I - I can _feel_ it.” 

Her father doesn’t look convinced. 

.

.

.

“What the hell is this?” he hisses. 

Anna sighs heavily as he wafts the parchment under her nose, though she doesn’t need to read it - Elsa already warned her that her father had sent two of the royal guard’s to his cabin earlier that day in order to ensure that he personally received it. 

“Ignore him,” she shrugs, “he’s just - protective. That’s all.”

Kristoff scoffs at that. “What has him being protective got to do with meeting me?” he presses, and Anna smiles softly as she scoots herself a little closer towards him. The blonde narrows his eyes at the light smile that spreads across her face, and he tenses even further. “What is it?” he presses, “why are you looking at me like - like _that_?” 

She laughs softly as she bumps her shoulder against his own. “You’re ridiculous,” she smiles at him - something she’s said so many times since their first meeting - though his expression still doesn’t soften.

“Anna,” he says, almost pleading, now. “I’m not messing around, here. This is serious. I’ve been _-_ ” he squints down at the parchment, “- _summoned for an audience with the King._ ” 

Anna knows that there’s a lot she needs to explain to him, and so she gives him a knowing look, inhales a deep breath, and tells her tale from the beginning. 

“But he’s gone, now,” she smiles as she comes to the end of her story, “his suit _declined._ My mother told my father that I had found you; and he wasn’t pleased about it at first, but I told him all about your ice business, and Sven, he calmed down a little, and then he calmed down even _more_ when I told him about how _nice_ you are. So I suppose that he’ll want to meet you before we can get married, _obviously,_ and then once you’ve met and he knows for sure that it’s you, then -”

“Woah, woah, woah,” Kristoff interrupts, his face pulled into a tight frown as he narrows his eyes at her. “Slow down,” he says, and Anna rolls her eyes playfully. 

After the last four nights spent talking for hours - apart from last night, when they spent most of it kissing - he knows full well that she has a habit of rambling, especially when she’s nervous or excited or both. 

“I’m - you’re not _marrying_ me, Anna,” he says simply, and the redhead’s eyes widen dramatically as the small smile falls from her face.

“What do you mean?” she asks, genuinely surprised. “Why not?”

He balks at her.

“What do _I_ mean?” he scoffs, “are you - _why not_? Anna, you met me _five days ago._ ”

“And?” she presses, a little irritated now. “You’re my _soulmate._ ”

“I may as well still be a _stranger,_ ” he says, and she shakes her head, though he continues. “Yes! I - look,” he huffs, “I’m not - I can’t _do_ this, okay? I spent twenty-two years thinking that you didn’t exist, and now you just show up out of nowhere, tell me that you’re a _princess,_ and expect me to just want to - to -”

Anna’s eyes widen as he runs a hand through his hair and huffs dramatically. 

“I need to go,” he tells her, and she fills with panic. 

“No!” she says, her voice a little louder than she intended it to be, though he moves to stand regardless. “No, Kristoff, please don’t, we can -”

He cuts her off with a long look, and despite her irritation at his inability to be _reasonable,_ she fills with panic at the thought of him leaving. “Please don’t go,” she says, and his expression softens as his shoulders sag.

“Anna, _please,_ ” he stresses, “just - just let me think about all of this. It’s - it’s a _lot._ Okay?”

She can’t exactly stop him, and so she nods her head as he leaves without another word, the door to the stables closing softly behind him. 

Once she’s certain that he’s gone, she lies back against the hay and cries.

  
  



	4. Chapter 4

She wonders if three hours is long enough for Kristoff to think. 

Probably not, but there’s no way that she would have been able to sleep tonight after the way that their conversation ended, so.

“What are you doing here?”

She feels a little sheepish now, but she shrugs her shoulders gently as she smiles up at him. 

“I - I know I probably shouldn’t have come,” she tells him as she bites down on her lip, but he shakes his head quickly and steps towards one side so that he can open the door to his cabin further. 

Anna accepts his silent invitation as she steps carefully inside, her eyes wide and curious as she drinks in the unfamiliar environment. He quickly dismisses himself - says that he’ll settle her horse around the back with Sven - and Anna smiles as she moves further into the cabin. It’s small and it’s cozy and it’s so very _him,_ and when he returns a few minutes later, she smiles bashfully over at him as he closes and bolts the door. 

He doesn’t linger. Instead, he busies himself by stoking the fire and gathering some furs for her. _On account of the chill,_ he murmurs; and she wants to tell him that there isn’t one, wants to reassure him that everything’s perfect, that she’s fine, but there’s a part of her that selfishly enjoys the way in which he fusses over her in his own, sweet way. 

It’s selfish, she knows, but she doesn’t want to stop him, and so she smiles softly and indulges herself in the moment. 

“I’m sorry about earlier,” she tells him, as he drapes the furs over her shoulders, though he shakes his head slightly.

“I’m sorry, too,” he says, “but I - I mean it, Anna. ‘Soulmates’ or not, I - you - you can’t marry me.”

She’s been here no more than a few minutes, and her eyes are already pooling with tears. His hands remain buried in the furs, tucked slightly underneath her chin, and she sees the moment that he realises she’s teetering on the verge of crying. 

She doesn’t _want_ to, of course; but she doesn’t understand how she got this all wrong, doesn’t understand what it is that she’s done that’s ruined this so quickly. 

“Kristoff,” she says, her breath hitching on his name, “I - I don’t know what I’ve done to offend you so much, but I - I’ve waited my entire _life_ for you, and now you’re here, I -”

His eyes widen as he blinks rapidly, and the tension in her shoulders instantly evaporates when he raises one of his hands to cup her face. His touch alone is enough to settle her, and her eyes flutter to a close as she leans into him.

She can’t lose this feeling. She _won’t._

“I’m not saying never,” he interrupts, his words hurried, and her eyes fly open dramatically at that. “I just - ah, _shit,_ Anna, I didn’t mean to upset you. I just -”

She raises one of her hands to her eyes and wipes away the tears with the back of her hands, irritated at herself for crying so easily. 

“It’s - what do you mean, not _never_?” she repeats, her heart pounding in her chest with desperate hope. “Do you mean -”

“I mean _not now,_ ” he clarifies. “Anna. We met _five days ago._ And - and I know it’s intense, okay? I - I feel it just as much. But I think - I think we need to slow down. Actually get to know each other. It’s not… it’s not _normal,_ marrying someone you don’t even know.”

“But you - you’re my -” she starts, though she can’t say it, can’t get the word out, and he swallows thickly.

“I know,” he agrees, and he lifts his other hand to her opposite cheek so that he’s cupping her face with both of his large hands, now. “I _know._ But that doesn’t mean we have to rush anything. Yeah?” 

Well, when he puts it like _that -_

“Okay,” she breathes, and she’s embarrassed, now; her cheeks flushing pink as she blinks up at him. 

She should have known better, should have thought more logically about it all. She definitely should have spoken to him before she declared her desire to marry him to her father, but she was carried away by the romantic notion of it all, by the excitement and elation she felt at finally finding him; and she’s reminded once more of just how little she knows about normal life - about _his_ life. 

“Hey,” he says, voice soft as his thumbs trace over her cheeks, his fingers buried in her hair, “you okay?” 

She wants to explain herself to him, wants to tell him everything that she’s thinking and feeling; but as she opens her mouth to speak, no words come. Instead, her eyes dance down to his parted lips, and she finds herself sighing softly as her chest tightens. 

The pull that she feels towards him is overwhelming, and the only thing that makes her feel any better about it is knowing that he feels it, too. 

She doesn’t ignore it, and Anna steps closer towards him and raises herself on her tiptoes in one fluid movement so that she can press her lips against his. He grunts in surprise, though he kisses her back without hesitation, and Anna smiles happily against his lips as one of his hands drops from her face and snakes around her waist. 

Her own hands press flat against either side of his chest, but as she slips her tongue into his mouth, she needs something more to steady her; and so Anna wraps both of her arms around the back of his neck and grips at the hairs at his nape as she deepens the kiss. The movement causes the furs that he had draped across her shoulders to fall to the floor, and although Kristoff pulls her tightly against him as he returns her kiss with equal intensity, she struggles from the angle.

Those furs give her an idea, though.

Even with Anna on her tiptoes and Kristoff leaning down towards her, there’s only so long that they can continue before the position becomes far too uncomfortable for either of them to maintain, and so she presses firmly against the back of his head in what she hopes he understands to be encouragement as she begins to lower herself down towards the floor. 

Part of her expects him to protest, but he doesn’t. Instead, he eagerly follows her lead, and once she’s settled against the furs, Kristoff moves his lips away from her own and begins to trail kisses across her jawline. 

She giggles softly at the feel of his stubble scratching pleasantly against her skin, and Anna sighs happily as she buries her fingers further into his hair. 

“What’s so funny?” he murmurs before he nips at her earlobe, and the action causes goosebumps to prickle all over her body.

Anna’s hips buck instinctively at the sensation, and she looks up at him with hooded eyes as he pulls away from her face and looms over her. Kristoff braces himself on his palms as he smirks down at her, and she lets out another breathy laugh.

“Nothing,” she tells him, and she raises her head slightly so that she can brush the tip of her nose against his. “I just - it tickles, that’s all,” she tells him, and she’s relieved when he chuckles, too. 

He doesn’t say anything more as he continues to blink down at her, though his dark eyes soften as he considers her for a long moment. Anna watches as he purses his lips, and her heart pounds in her chest as she waits for him to speak.

He’s so _handsome_ ; so masculine and strong, and even if he wasn’t her soulmate, even if she didn’t share the marks that litter his skin, then she knows she’d want to kiss him anyway. 

“I -” he starts, then sighs. His breath is warm as it fans across her face, and _god,_ she wants to kiss him again, wants to much _more,_ too. “Anna, you need to tell me what you want,” he says. “I don’t - I’ve never -”

“Me neither,” she whispers, and she smiles softly up at him. 

His dark eyes dance over her face, and Anna’s cheeks burn impossibly darker under his heated gaze. She bites down on her bottom lip as she snakes one of her hands from the back of his head and moves it so that she can cup his cheek, the pad of her thumb dragging over his lips as she regards him for a long moment. 

“I just - we’ll figure it all out, right?” she asks, relief flooding through her when he nods his head. The mood between them has rapidly changed, and her heart pounds as she watches the way in which his tongue slips out to dampen his lips. “For now, let’s just - just kiss me. _Please._ ”

She doesn’t have to ask twice. 

Their lips meet in a heated, passionate kiss, and Anna groans as his wet tongue dances against her own. The hand that cups his face moves down to fist in the collar of his shirt, and Anna can’t help herself, can’t fight the overwhelming desire to be closer to him, and she swiftly begins to unfasten the buttons. 

She doesn’t hesitate to press her palm flat against his bare chest as his shirt falls open, and they moan simultaneously at the new contact. It feels so _good,_ and in no time at all, he’s bare above the waist; the shirt discarded haphazardly across the floor. 

Kristoff lowers his body down further so that his waist rests tightly against her own as opposed to hovering above her, and a small, satisfied noise escapes her throat at the feel of his hard length pressing against her core. She’s relieved that she only bothered to wear one of her thin, green day dresses as opposed to something larger and thicker; though now that he’s firmly resting over her, Anna’s convinced that she would be able to feel his desire even through her largest ball gown. 

Her fingers wander over the expanse of golden skin that he’s revealed to her, and there’s so much of him to explore, yet her hands quickly move to his back. Anna’s breath hitches in her throat when she traces over the scar that marks the back of his shoulder, and she shudders dramatically as her fingernails rake over the raised skin.

Kristoff curses against her lips as he breaks their kiss, and his head falls to the crook of her neck as her fingers continue to dance over the scar. It’s the largest and the deepest that they share, and Anna’s eyes squeeze tightly to a close as she pants into the air.

It’s too much and not enough all at the same time, and she groans as he kisses softly at her neck.

She needs him to see. 

Her name tumbles from his lips as he pushes himself back once more whilst he watches her hurry to undress. Kristoff doesn’t move to stop her, doesn’t protest or shake his head as she pulls her arms out of her sleeves. It’s a little challenging from her position on the floor, but after a moment of watching her struggle, Kristoff assists her. 

Her dress joins his shirt - discarded without thought across the floor - and although her cheeks burn at the way in which his dark eyes rake over her, Anna moves to sit herself upright before him. 

“We’re the same,” she whispers, her chest heaving as she blinks over at him, “we - _look._ ”

Anna twists her upper body so that she can turn her back towards him, and although she can’t see his face from this angle, she hears his sharp intake of breath as she gathers her hair into her hand and pulls it around to her front, fully exposing her scarred shoulder to him. Her upper body trembles in anticipation as she waits for him to breathe, to speak, to do _something -_

She wasn’t expecting him to press his lips to her skin.

Her breath hitches, and tears pool in her eyes. 

It’s too much. Too overwhelming. 

“I’m so sorry,” he murmurs as he drags his lips over her skin. “Forgive me,” he whispers before he presses another soft kiss to the centre of the mark, and a moan tumbles from her throat as her eyes flutter to a close. 

Two lonely tears fall down her cheeks, though she can’t bring herself to wipe them away; too consumed by the feelings that bubble within her as Kristoff presses kiss after kiss to the mark on her skin. 

She loves him. She _does._ Five days or not, she knows that she’ll never be able to be with another. 

So why not now?

Anna turns to face him once again, and she looks at him for a long, heated moment before she presses her lips urgently against his. 

He doesn’t hesitate any longer, and Anna knows that he feels it, too.

It hardly takes any time at all for them both to remove the rest of their clothing, and she nods her head quickly as one of his thick fingers strokes carefully over her damp folds. Her toes curl in pleasure as he drags it back and forth several times before he presses the pad of it against her pulsating clit, and Anna inhales sharply as he pulls it away only to slowly push it inside of her. 

“Okay?” he murmurs, his lips brushing against her own as he speaks, and she nods once more before she captures them in another bruising kiss. 

He pleasures her softly and slowly, but before long, Anna knows that it’s not going to be enough. As always when it comes to him, she needs _more;_ and Anna’s far too desperate for him to be close to think straight anymore. She doesn’t register the gentle pleas that she whispers against his lips, barely even recognises the sound of her own voice as she whines into his mouth, but he understands.

He never makes her tell him twice.

Kristoff carefully settles her back against the furs, and she’s grateful for his earlier fussing, now - she has a feeling that she wouldn’t have been _quite_ as comfortable if she laid bare against the hard wooden floor. Anna resists the urge to close her eyes as his fingers stroke over her wet folds once more, and her hips buck instinctively into the air as he positions himself above her. 

He grips at the base of his length as he hovers above her, and Anna shudders when he rubs the tip of himself against her slit. She raises one of her hands to his face and smiles softly up at him as he settles himself at her entrance.

“I found you,” she says, voice barely above a whisper. “I found you, and you’re mine, now.”

He grins in response. “You did,” he confirms, “and I am. I - _fuck,_ Anna, I always have been.”

The way that her scars had tingled when she first heard his voice and pressed her lips against his is nothing compared to the way that they sing as he presses himself slowly inside of her. 

Each and every mark on her skin - no matter how small - warms in the most pleasant of ways as he slides inch by inch into her heat, and Anna’s eyes widen once they’re finally united in full. 

“I’m yours,” she murmurs, though her voice sounds so far away. “ _God,_ Kristoff, I _am._ ”

His hips rock slowly against her own, and Anna’s hands return to his nape as he stretches her. It takes her a while to fully adjust to his size, and she moans softly as his mouth slides over hers. 

Their kiss is nowhere near as heated as before. Instead, it’s slow and gentle and tender, and her entire body fills with heat as his thrusts begin to sutter and falter. Anna finds herself thinking once more of how it’s all too much - the tingle at the base of her spine, the warmth of her scars, the pounding of her heart and the tight clench of her core as he moves himself inside of her - and she pants against his lips as he breaks their kiss.

“I can’t,” he says, though his eyes squeeze tightly shut as he huffs out a breath. “Anna, I’m -”

She doesn’t know what to say - she won’t find her own release, not tonight, but that doesn’t mean she’s not thoroughly enjoying herself - and Anna silences him with a wet, clumsy kiss. It seems to do the trick, and with just a few more stuttered thrusts, Kristoff empties himself inside of her.

It’s not wise for him to have done so, and if she would have thought ahead then she would have warned him as much - but she’s not thinking about anything other than the way in which it feels to finally have him as hers. 

Anna focuses on the weight of him as he collapses onto her chest, and she smiles softly as she strokes her hands through his sweat-dampened hair. She can’t resist the urge to explore the rest of his skin once more, and they shudder simultaneously when her nails rake over the long scar on his shoulder once more. 

Five days or not, she loves him. She _does._

She tells him as much. 

.

.

.

It’s a funny thing, seeing him walking through the castle. After several nights of sneaking around, she finds it rather amusing that he’s now walking casually through the corridors after having met with her father. 

She grins brightly as she rushes over towards him, and surprise is evident over his features as she throws herself towards his chest. He hesitates only briefly before his arms come to settle around her, and he rests his palms on either side of her hips when she eventually takes a step back from him. 

They have a lot to discuss following his conversation with the King, and she pushes one of her braids over her shoulder as she wraps her hands around both of his wrists.

“Walk with me?” she asks him, and he nods quickly. 

.

.

.

They make their way out into the gardens, and it’s not proper of her to cling so tightly to his hand, and some of the maids that pass them by look surprised and horrified all at once, though Anna couldn’t care less. It would be easy enough for her to refrain from touching him if he was anyone else, but she can’t help it, can’t fight the need to constantly be close to him, to hold him. 

“Well,” she starts, her palm brushing against his callouses. “How did it go?”

Kristoff shrugs his shoulders before he recounts the entire meeting to her.

Overall, Anna thinks that it sounds as though the discussion went rather well. Better than she expected, anyway. It sounds as though her father at least somewhat agrees with Kristoff in terms of the two of them waiting a little longer in order to get to know one another before they think about the prospect of a wedding. 

The blonde frowns as he tells her that his idea of waiting and her father’s idea of waiting aren’t _quite_ the same thing, and Agnarr has given the ice harvester permission to court his daughter for six short weeks before he expects a decision to be made.

Her heart soars with possibilities. She knew that her mother would come through for her, knew that she would talk him round. There was never going to be any stopping her once she found him, not really; and Anna’s more than delighted with the way in which her father has bent to her wishes.

For all of his reluctance to acknowledge her marks, he’s accepted the fact that she found Kristoff much easier than she thought he would.

“I mean, I already know what that decision will be,” he sighs, “I just - I thought that we’d at least get a bit more time together, first.”

Anna smiles softly as she squeezes at his hand once again. “Oh?” she says, her chin tilted up towards him, “and what will that decision be?” 

Kristoff rolls his eyes at her then. “You already know,” he grins at her. “You feel it, too.” 

  
  



End file.
